


Whiskey and Ghosts

by quiteanerdling



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Alcohol, Drunk Sex, F/M, Force Sex (Star Wars), I stand by this, Vaginal Sex, Wildy fucked up relationship dynamics, honestly the only person/thing Arcann should be having a relationship with is therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 09:30:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15191846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiteanerdling/pseuds/quiteanerdling
Summary: My smuggler and Arcann drink whiskey and have weird sex. That's... really it.





	Whiskey and Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up with an overwhelming need to write SWTOR porn. I genuinely think it's awful you can "redeem" and romance Arcann but can't save Vaylin, who deserved it way more. (The ranting and yelling I did when playing through KOTET was legendary.) Also Arcann has the worst redemption arc of any BioWare character ever, including Cullen Rutherford. Not beta'd because ain't nobody got time for that.

It started with drinking, which she can admit should probably just be the title of her biography someday. Neither she nor Arcann should be allowed to get drunk at all - she doesn’t THINK she can accidentally bombard a planet with the Eternal Fleet while in a different part of the galaxy, but no one has ever been really clear on exactly how the fucking thing works. Meanwhile Arcann is… well surprisingly stable for a former mass murdering dictator who spent his entire life being manipulated and corrupted by an immortal monster, but still, getting drunk is probably not the best option. Or possibly it’s the only option, but she’s not in the mood to be philosophical.

So hence, they’ve been drinking, which is when they usually end up fucking, but they’re both sort of living in denial of that particular correlation. Arcann is shockingly good in bed. SHOCKINGLY. When her fucked up brain had suddenly decided to imagine having sex with him (that was a thought straight from the lekku, the place where all terrible ideas come from) she had pictured him being incredibly awkward and aggressive, because when would he have ever had a chance to get laid on the regular between all the galaxy conquering and interniscene slaughter? Not to mention he didn't really seem the type to make sure anyone else got off as long as he did.

Turns out he had, and she quoted, “a rather decadent and hedonistic phase after taking the throne.” It’s a pretty alarming statement considering the mental health history of his entire fucking family, but it couldn’t have been that bad… probably. Arcann had been a surprisingly well liked and respected ruler before she had popped out of carbonite with his dad stuck in her head like the universe’s most evil, powerful, and persistent bit of song you can’t stop hearing. Whatever he had considered decadent, it had given him an impressive sexual skillset. And well, if he wanted to make some personal reparations for past aggressions between her legs, it would just be churlish to say no. (When she was sober she was really churlish about all of it, but couldn't seem to stop letting her drunk self out for Bad Life Decision Roulette.)

All previous reparation orgasms had been hand (and tongue, and dick) delivered, but apparently that just wasn’t creative enough, because now she was sitting across from him in the sunken floored lounge of her apartment, fully clothed and being felt up by the Force. Arcann was studying her intensely, while using some incredibly precise telekinesis to keep her arms and legs bound, as other tendrils of Force moved over her body in ways that were almost as unnerving as they were arousing. It was as if he was touching her from both outside and inside. Much like everything else they did together, it felt incredibly good and also very, very wrong.

A pinching sensation in her nipples surprised a moan out of her, even though she had been determined not to make any noise. In fact she’d been determined not to enjoy it at all. When he’d declared he could make her come without even touching her, she’d called bullshit, and then demanded he prove it. Nearly pathologically incapable of passing up a challenge, he had immediately set to work. He was starting to smirk now, which was intolerable, so she closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the cushions. Plausible deniability.

The force bonds were keeping her legs open, which was really kind of silly since she was still fully clothed, but somehow it just made everything hotter. She could feel the pressure of it against her legs like actual restraints, and let herself strain against them just for the pleasure of it, of feeling her muscles work. He hadn’t “touched” her below the waist but she was already wet and aching, and maybe getting a little desperate. When the pinching sensation in her nipples went from teasing to excruciating for one exquisite moment, her back arched and her hips thrust forward completely of their own volition. Arcann had learned very quickly that the judicious and sudden application of pain to punctuate pleasure left her weak. He was, unsurprisingly, _really_ good at it.

Which probably explained the sudden ache in her lower abdomen, almost like cramps, but more immediate and far more pleasurable. Pressure from the outside, like a hand pushing against her body seemed to both temper and yet heighten the discomfort. When the power he was using pressed against her crotch like a large hand, putting indirect pressure on her clit, she gave up trying to be stoic and whimpered. The ache and pressure in and against her abdomen made everything more intense. It made her cunt clench tight, expecting to be filled, but apparently that wasn’t on the menu - he simply continued that broad, flat pressure, letting it pulse rhythmically against her clit. 

“Fuck!” The touch on her nipples grew painful again, this time not a pinch, but a searing heat. She would have denied it if asked (and everything else that was happening), but the sound it drew out of her was definitely a sob. She opened her eyes to glare. Arcann was still reclining against the back of the large chair opposite her, his left boot resting casually on his right knee. The smirk had become a filthy, hungry smile. “You fucking asshole.” 

He laughed and accelerated the rhythm between her legs. She clenched her eyes shut again and bit her lower lip hard. She was moving constantly now, straining against the bonds, hips thrusting even though it didn’t do a damn bit of good. The ache in her belly was intensifying, not through Arcann’s ghost touch, but with the building of her own orgasm. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to chase it or hold it back. Not that she was going to get much of a choice, because Arcann just kept building the touch and the pleasure at a steady, maddening rate, just fast enough to keep her from catching her breath. The sounds she heard herself making were correspondingly breathless and also slightly embarrassing.

She could feel herself peaking and struggled wildly against the implacable bonds, wondering distantly if she’d bruise herself against them. She was so close, finally giving in and just letting herself chase her pleasure, it would only be seconds and she’d…

Everything stopped. The only thing she could feel were the bonds holding her down and her body’s screaming objection to being denied. She opened her eyes and mouth to second the objection, only to find Arcann looming over her, smile gone, but somehow still looking inordinately smug. He leaned down until he was bare centimeters away, just far enough that her eyes didn’t cross when she looked at him.

“Say please.” His voice made her shudder - deep, rough, dark. It was unbearable. She’d resented what it did to her insides since the first time he’d opened his mouth outside her jail cell. 

“Fuck you.” Was what she said instead, though she sounded desperate enough she might as well have been begging. He laughed, and if he wasn’t careful he’d make her come with the sound of his voice, and maybe she’d take that as a win.

“Not until you say please, Anaala.”

It was the way he said her name that ruined her. He only used it when they were alone, when enough alcohol or enough arousal broke through the armor of his formality. No “Commander” then, and maybe THAT was the real win. Or a draw because she didn’t even remember why she was being stubborn.

“ _Please_.” She saw his pupils dilate until the blue of his iris was almost subsumed in black, right before every desperate, delicious onslaught on her senses returned and her eyes clenched shut. Her ogasm was so intense it felt like she must be dying, pleasure so strong she couldn’t breath, couldn’t cry out, all her muscles locked tight as it washed through her. The touch continued, overwhelming, until she finally caught her breath enough to actually sob, too far gone to form any words.

This time when the onslaught stopped, the restaining hold fell away and she would have collapsed right off the couch if she hadn’t found herself suddenly being shifted by strong arms until she was sitting in Arcann’s lap. Shaking, feeling completely boneless, she pressed her face into the crook of his neck, biting down hard, licking and sucking, the slightly salty taste of his skin an anchor point for her wandering thoughts. He smelled incredible, which was another unfair thing, just like his voice. He grunted and wrapped her up tighter against him, the durasteel of his cybernetic fingers digging into her thigh, and that would DEFINITELY bruise.

Still shivering, she unclamped her teeth, running the tip of her tongue over the indents they had left behind, gently kissing the bruise already blooming in dark red and purple on his pale skin. He didn’t make a sound but he shifted under her, his erection unmistakable under her thigh. She nuzzled and kissed her way to his ear lobe, giving it a quick, sharp nip. 

“You should fuck me now.” She whispered, not even to attempting to hide the ragged, lustful wreck of her voice. THAT made him groan, low and desperate enough to make her laugh. She wasn’t a small woman, tall and thick with muscle and fat, far more curves than corners, but Arcann still handled her as if she weighed nothing, somehow flipping her up over the back of the couch so fast it made her gasp. Giddy, she let her head fall forward and laughed as she heard clothing being unclasped and removed with ruthless efficiency. It was impressive just how quickly he could get those robes of his open, and her many belts removed before he shoved down her pants, trapping her by the thighs.

It was mere moments before she felt the head of his cock pressing against her, followed near instantly by one long, hard thrust that slammed her hips against the furniture. He didn’t bother to stop and let her adjust, just pulled almost the entire way back out again before snapping his hips forward and beginning to fuck her at a brutal and delicious pace. Coming so hard from stimulation to her clit almost guaranteed she’d orgasm again if he fucked her long enough. That was not a problem with Arcann - he had more stamina than he knew what to do with. She wasn’t convinced he could come quickly even if he wanted to. As it was, he didn’t seem the least bit interested in finishing any time soon.

Time had already gone fuzzy on her so she had no idea how long he’d been fucking her before her body began to shift from the humming, constant pleasure of his cock sliding inside of her, to the tense ache of impending orgasm. She tried to shift up on her arms on the back of the couch, but he didn’t let her get far, metal arm clamped across her waist, his flesh and blood hand clamping over the back of her neck. Arcann was never really loud during sex, not the way she was, but the noises he made against her were rough and animalistic, and they made her feel wild. He was all but growling when he shifted one of her lekku aside so he could clamp his mouth along the juncture of her shoulder and neck, mirroring her earlier behavior.

The added ache of his bite had exactly the effect she was sure he intended, and this time when she came she screamed, the pulse of her body around his cock so hard it almost hurt. He didn’t stop or slow down, just kept pounding into her, producing tiny orgasmic aftershocks that left her moaning and possibly begging, though she wasn’t really sure what had been tumbling out of her mouth. His thrusts weren’t losing strength, but they were losing their rhythm, a telltale sign that his own orgasm was about to catch him. She hung limp in his grip, hazy, aching, and sated, content to let him falter and shudder behind her. Finally, with a groan that be buried in her skin, he stopped, pressed oh so tightly against her as she felt him pulse inside her, even so small a sensation reverberating through her sensitive flesh. It lasted a surprisingly long time, fluttering inside her as he pressed tight against her back.

His mouth released her skin, but he didn't let her go, breath quickly decelerating from rapid to even against her ear cone. His body was honed to battle for hours, a quick fuck wasn’t nearly enough to tire him out. With a gentleness that still surprised her, and made her nervous, he lowered her so that she could support herself against the back of the couch before he let go and pulled out of her. She squirmed involuntarily, knowing what was coming next. 

Arcann, for all his formality of dress and speech was unrepentantly filthy, and seemed to take great pleasure in the way it shocked her. It’s only moments before his hands are on the backs of her thighs, face buried between them as he licked and sucked his semen out of her. She moaned, half pleasure and half protest, her body twitching with over-stimulation as the tip of his tongue moved inside her. He was thorough, lapping at her labia, ass, and thighs to clean up the fluid of her own arousal. By the time he’d finished and tugged her pants back into place with no help at all on her part, she was wondering is she could manage a third round. She decided she’d need a better quality of whiskey for that, Correllian and not some Hutt imitation.

Arcann tugged at her until he got her on her back, lying flat on the couch like a civilized person instead of a savage who abused the back of it. The kiss he gave her was thoroughly _uncivilized_ , his tongue fucking into her mouth like his cock had, the salty, bitter taste of come in his mouth and now in hers. She hooked one leg behind his thigh and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him in place so she could nip at his lips when he started to pull away. She studiously ignored the little voice in her head that pointed out she was being awfully affectionate with someone she was supposedly hate fucking. At least the shitty Hutt whiskey was enough to help drown out small, stupid voices.

“I can feel your smugness Arcann, it’s annoying.” She dropped her arms and opened her eyes to glare at him, but she doubted she managed to counteract the look of satisfaction she could feel on her face.

“I sincerely hope you aren’t expecting me to apologize for “proving it” as you requested.” He looked smug, he sounded smug, he was definitely smug and probably deserved to be, but she sure as fuck wasn’t going to admit it. 

“Force users,” she commented sadly, shaking her head a bit, “you show a remarkable lack of scientific rigor. That was entirely too small of a sample size to count as “proof.” You’re going to have to run that particular experiment several more times to meet my high standards of intellectual…” 

She trailed off as she felt his power moving under her skin again. “Fuck.”

“As long as it’s for science.” He responded solemnly. He was still smug. 

She was going to have to buy more whiskey.


End file.
